The gull landed with a light thump and waddled to the goodie. Suddenly, three more of the noisy birds appeared.
“Good grief.” She tossed each a tidbit and scowled when the smallest gull was shoved aside. Bullies abounded, didn’t they? Her next toss went directly under the little guy.
Birds and their pecking orders. Humans did the same thing. She sighed. Boy, did they. Okay. Time to think. Logically.
Basically, she had two, somewhat intertwined, problems going on.
The first was that her recent notoriety—being a slave—affected how she fit into life in Foggy Shores. That might eventually resolve, since hopefully, as the townspeople’s memories faded, so would the gossip.
“Do I want to wait that long?”
Food finished, one by one, the gulls took to the sky, leaving only the sounds of water lapping at the pilings and the laughter of children playing on the beach. She’d been happy in this town. Her marriage had been a good one for the most part. When Frederick had died so unexpectedly in a car crash, the townspeople had been her support. Had helped her start her business. Here was where she’d raised Brenna and Charles.
She stared down at her hands. But now… The last of her close friends had moved away two years ago. Stupid mobile society. Her children had gone off to college. She had fewer ties; she could leave. Her home no longer felt like a refuge—she still saw the ugly words as if they’d never been scrubbed away. Her house would easily sell.
But my store? She loved her little beach store, loved being a businesswoman, loved supporting her fellow craftsmen. She didn’t want to move her business. Her mouth tightened. And she darn well wasn’t going to flee as if she’d done something wrong.
So the answer to problem number one? She’d wait it out.
She scrubbed the toe of her canvas shoe on the rough wood, realizing her second problem affected the first and vice versa. Gossip wouldn’t be so unnerving if she was comfortable with herself.
Face it, she wasn’t. At all. She closed her eyes and asked the question she’d been avoiding. Did needing to be hurt mean she was mentally unstable?
I don’t know. She grimaced. It’d be easier to judge if she had more experience. But she’d been a virgin when she married Frederick, and she’d had very few lovers. Before Sam, she’d only mentioned her desires to three men—Dwayne, Frederick, and Lee. They’d all behaved as if she had a problem.
Then again, they were all…conservative…men. Should she use their opinions to measure herself? Perhaps not. She gave an unhappy laugh. Why hadn’t she spent her time in that one BDSM club talking to people? Finding out what was normal, if there was such a thing.
As unhappiness welled up inside her, she blinked back tears. Why was it all so hard?
But her solution—ignoring her “problem”—wasn’t working. At all. Somehow she had to find a way to come to terms with herself. I need help. Advice. The tears spilled over. I need a hug so, so much.
And with that, she had the answer. On her cell phone, she punched in a number. “Kim? Can I talk to you about something?”
* * * *
Filled with the scent of pizza, garlic, and olive oil, the small Italian restaurant was warm and cozy against the chill night. A cold front was moving in, temperatures were dropping, possibly down to freezing. Orange groves were on alert.
Linda followed Kim toward a small corner booth with only one occupant, a redhead with a vivid blue streak in her hair. She wore a blue, three-quarter-sleeved shirt to match and had blue-flowered wrist tattoos. Not a stodgy person, at least.
Kim motioned to her. “This is Gabi.”
Linda smiled politely. Apparently the woman had volunteered to work with the FBI as a decoy in the Shadowlands. Successfully, since she’d been kidnapped by the Harvest Association. A snort threatened to escape. Maybe this isn’t the right person to talk to me about insanity.
Gabi grinned. “Hi, Linda.”
That voice. Mingled with memories of sobbing women, gentle orders from nurses in scrubs, and beeping medical machines was this lovely voice. “You were at the hospital.” All the rescued slaves from the auction had been taken to one hospital for healing and counseling. Gabi had been with the counselors.
“I’m a victim specialist with the FBI and very happy to stay that way.” Gabi gave a mock shiver. “Fieldwork is totally not my thing.”
“But you did it for me, and I’ll never forget it.” Kim glanced at a single glass on the table. “Did you order?”
“You bet. Two large. One all meat, one pepperoni and black olive. There’ll be plenty to take home.”
“Good job. Raoul loves pizza. Linda, sit. I’ll get us some drinks.” She glanced at Gabi’s drink, then at Linda. “Root beer, right?”
“Right.” As Kim headed away, Linda slid into the other side of the booth, feeling less uncomfortable than she’d expected.
“I hear you have some questions and want to talk a bit.”
Where to start? “Kim said you live with a Dom? You’re submissive?”
“That’s right. Marcus is one of the Masters of the Shadowlands. He used to handle the trainees there, which is how we met.”
At the easy agreement, Linda released the breath she’d been holding. Obviously, she wouldn’t shock this woman. Maybe. “I’m submissive too.” She forced out the next words. “And a masochist.” As she stared at the wavering wood of the booth, the buzzing in her ears blotted out the hum of conversation. She felt her hand being taken.
“Breathe, sweetie, before you pass out.”
Linda pulled in a breath, and the room came back in focus. Sweat had beaded on her forehead. “Um. Sorry. I hadn’t—”
Gabi’s smile was sympathetic. “Hadn’t said that aloud before? That must feel like one of those alcoholic programs. ‘My name is Linda, and I’m a masochist.’”
Ouch. Yet the word had less impact this time. “Kind of. So does being a m-masochist mean I need some serious mental adjustment?”
“Well, let’s see.” Gabi leaned back. “Did being a slave turn you into a masochist?”
“No. In fact…” Linda’s hands clenched. But she was already confiding, might as well go all the way. “I saw a woman Tasered outside a BDSM club. I tried to help and ended up kidnapped too.” She swallowed. “Only, I’d just been in that club. So it feels like I got what I deserved. Like I—”
“Honey, that’s bullshit.” Gabi’s brisk interruption made Linda blink. “Didn’t your counselor tell you that?”
Linda stared at her hands. “I never—”
“You didn’t share that with her, did you?” Gabi narrowed her eyes. “And a minute ago, you acted like you’d never said the word ‘masochist’ before. You didn’t bring that up with her either?”
Linda shook her head.
“Oh boy. No wonder you’re going around in circles.” Gabi’s brows drew together.
“Gabi, hello?” Kim thumped the drinks on the table and slid in beside Linda. “I wanted you to help, not frown at her.”
“Well damn, how is a therapist supposed to help if she’s left in the cold?” Gabi let out a long sigh before her lips twisted ruefully. “Then again, we’re also supposed to push and get to the bottom of things. Yours obviously let you avoid a lot.”
“Avoid what?” Kim asked.
“Avoid the things you worked through.” Gabi patted Kim’s hand. “Like how dirty you felt. And how you felt as if you deserved to be abused because you’d gone to a BDSM club.”
Linda stared. “You too?”
“Kim got help with those feelings.” Gabi’s gaze settled on Linda. “So…you didn’t tell your counselor because you think being into kink is wrong. Right? I mean, correct?”
Gabi was definitely a psychologist. Linda wanted to hide under the table, yet the understanding from both women kept her in her seat. “My husband and other…lovers…acted as if I’m unbalanced.”
“Ah. Because you like pain. Crave it, probably. It makes sex better and—for some people—helps process their emotions.” Gabi tapped her fingernails on the table. “You’ve got issues all right. First, the easiest one. You should realize that any assault leaves the victim thinking, ‘What did I do wrong to cause that? If I’d only done something different, this wouldn’t have happened.’ A survivor will go over and over every detail leading up to the incident.”
“Really?” Linda blinked.
Kim glanced over with a sheepish smile. “Oh yeah. Raoul said it’s normal. Humans need to think we can affect fate and control our destiny. Maybe we can to an extent, but sometimes shit just happens.”
Linda bit her lip. They were right. If she believed being kinky had led to the horrors she’d endured, then by being normal, she’d ensure that bad things wouldn’t ever happen again. But if disasters occurred from simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time, then the universe held no certainties.
“Makes it scary, doesn’t it?” Gabi patted her hand. “I went through a gang rape when I was a teen. I got past it, but the world never felt quite as safe again.”